Sandwich
by Unexplained-Silence
Summary: Well, he certainly wasn't expecting a response when he asked if anyone was there. Nor was he expecting to be offered a sandwich. Human AU.
1. Chapter 1

I've had this idea for a while now, And I've had most of it written for a while too. I just haven't known how to finish it, so I decided to change it to human AU. That said, the time frame is the same as Cybertronian, but if I miss any anatomical terms, don't hate me.

Prompt: I found a picture somewhere that said something along the lines of "Why do people in horror movies always call out when they think the bad guy's in their house? What are they gonna say, 'Yeah, I'm in the kitchen. Want a sandwich?'" Or something.

If I owned them, they'd kill me so that I didn't.

**Update** 3/4: Thank you for noticing and pointing out the mistake RangerBlack. I've fixed it now.

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><p>Prowl was relieved when he finally reached the door of his apartment. It had been a long, stressful day at the precinct with several cases at standstills, not to mention Bluestreak's antics. He just wanted to flop onto his nice, comfy Praxian berth, close his eyes, and not move for a whole groon. That would be phenomenal.<p>

But he had an early shift tomorrow. And he had to pick Bluestreak up from Smokescreen's and drop him off at the learning center. And he had to track down Ratchet for the autopsy report on the latest victim. Not to mention tracking down several suspects to actually get some of the cases moving again. Basically, tomorrow was not going to be fun in any way.

The keypad beeped admittance when he swiped his keycard, then again after the seven digit entry code. Most apartments only required the use of a keycard, but Prowl was an enforcer. He had seen too many cases of robbery-turned-murder to not be cautious, even when his caution bordered on paranoia. It was worth it to be safe, if one ignored the 'Red Alert's lost twin' jokes.

He stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him, making a perfect spot to lean on for just a few seconds. Finally. Peace and quiet. With a sigh Prowl pushed himself away from the door and stepped towards his office door. Then he froze, and looked back at the coffee table in front of the couch. Or rather, at the data pads on top of the table. When he had left at the start of the cycle, they had been in neat, orderly stacks, as per the norm in Prowl's apartment. Now, they were strewn across the surface as though a very small child had handled them. One was even on the floor, for Primus' sake!

Perhaps Smokscreen had visited? But Smokescreen knew how Prowl was about tidiness, and so did Bluestreak. Besides, Smokescreen had said he was showing Bluestreak the Iaconian Crystal Gardens (which were in no way as beautiful as those in Praxus, but still rather lovely), and that he wouldn't be back until very late tonight. Hence why Prowl had to pick him up early the next cycle.

According to his strong sense of logic, there was only one other possibility.

"Hello?" Prowl's voice came out soft, and he cleared his throat before calling again, more strongly this time, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He did not expect an answer of course. Criminals would never give away their presence like that. So the amused-sounding voice that answered had Prowl nearly jumping out of his skin.

"Yeah, Ah'm in the kitchen. Want a sandwich?"

Prowl whirled around to find a lean man with olive skin and blue-tinted reflective sunglasses leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, smirking at him. His enforcer training and instincts tried to kick in, demanding that he pull his handgun, find some cover, tackle the man, do _something, _but current state of shock overrode all of that and all he could manage was a weak, "What..?"

The smirk widened into a grin and the glasses flashed in the light. "A sandwich. 'S got roas' beef on it, an' fresh lettuce, and otha' stuff." Some part of Prowl's mind noticed that this man's accent was Polyhexan, and that he really didn't pronounce the letter "r" so much as leave an audial fill-in-the-blank. The rest of Prowl's mind was furiously trying to figure out precisely how this man got into _his_ home without a keycard, much less the passcode, who this man was, what he was doing here with...a roast beef sandwich?

The man in question tilted his head, and his smile became a frown. "Ah gotcha some cappuccino too." Odd, the man's voice was quieter now. A small downward motion of his head only added to the man's slight air of dejection. "Thought ya'd like it."

Finally, Prowl's mind snapped away from exactly why there was a strange man in his apartment that had brought a roast beef sandwich and...cappuccino. Prowl loved cappuccino. And roast beef sandwiches.

But that was irrelevant!

With his mind back in focus, Prowl's self-defense training kicked in, and in two seconds, the other was lying with his face pushed into the hard tile floor of the kitchen.

But instead of jumping with surprise or struggling to free himself, which would have been the polite response to being tackled and having a handgun pressed against the back of one's head, this man just laughed. _Laughed_. Oddly enough, to Prowl's ears, the sound was laced with a hint of relief. "Ya could'a just asked, Prowler. Ah got it fo' you." Something told Prowl that the man beneath him was not too concerned with the expected politeness of such a situation. That, or he simply always attempted to do something unexpected. Prowl didn't want to think about it. He was already experiencing a dull throb in the front of his head from the earlier surprise and shock.

He really didn't want to think about how the man already knew his name. He hadn't introduced himself. He especially didn't want to think about how this man knew his favourite sandwich type (because yes, he _did_ have a favourite sandwich type and anyone who said that was weird could keep walking), or how this man knew of his addiction to caffeine in the form of cappuccino. He would instead focus on more important things.

"How did you get in? There are no signs of breaking and entering, so it wasn't by force." It was true. Prowl had always been attuned to detail, so if there were any signs, he would have noticed them. "And my name is _Prowl_." Finally, Prowl's voice was cooperating with him! Unfortunately, the man beneath him wasn't. His low, threatening growl was met with yet another laugh, and the man easily rolled onto his back despite having the full weight of another man pinning him down. The action nearly threw Prowl off, but thankfully he was able to shift so that his knee was pressing into the man's abdominal area.

That had to hurt, but the man didn't show any sins of discomfort and he was still wearing that infuriating smirk. "Yo' apartment? Accordin' to th' residence log, this is _our_ apartment."

"What?" Normally, Prowl would never have allowed his voice to jump like that, but this man was really getting under his skin. Plus he was still fighting off the telltale sharp stabbing in his head. "What do you mean, 'our apartment?'"

The mech laughed again. "See fo' yo'self." He had somehow managed to situate himself so that he could pull a datapad from the pocket on his black-and-white jacket.

Prowl moved so that the gun was pressed against the man's chest. He wasn't about to put it away. So he had to use the hand that had been supporting him against the kitchen tile to accept the datapad. Unfortunately, that meant he also had to straddle the man for security reasons, and just like he had suspected, the man gave a cheeky grin at the change in positions.

The grin was met with a glare, but the mystery man just chuckled in response to his response. How incredibly inconsiderate.

Managing with just one hand, Prowl booted up the 'pad, which actually did hold a copy of the apartment complex's residence log.

And there it was. Apartment C-591 displayed Prowl's designation, along with the name 'Jazz.'

It was too much. Prowl was both physically and mentally exhausted, and his strong sense of logic couldn't handle it. He felt the sharpness in his mind intensify so much as to nearly blind him.

The last thing Prowl saw before everything went dark was the man, Jazz, he was assuming, grinning widely at him. And he had been so close to beating his record, too.

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><p>Soooooooo...like? I don't know if I'm going to add any more to this. I could, but I could also let this stand alone. Idk. *shrugs*<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, it's an update. I really seem to be bullying poor Prowl, don't I? But he can handle it...I'm pretty sure...

Also I apologize for any mistakes regarding the aftereffects of blacking out. I'm not a med student.

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><p><em>The Next Morning...<em>

Prowl awoke to the sound of voices. One of them he recognized, but the other one was unfamiliar.

His eyes wouldn't open on his command. The lids were far too heavy for that. With a low groan he raised his arm, which also felt like lead, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

When he could see his surroundings, the first thing he noticed was the light filtering through the window. It had already been dark when he'd gone to sleep. Had he gone to sleep last cycle? It wouldn't be the first time if he'd decided to work late and had ended up passing out. If that was the case though, how had he ended up in his bedroom?

Out of habit, Prowl looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand. The electric digits read 9:17.

But that would mean...

Crap! He'd slept through when he was supposed to meet Bluestreak and Smokescreen!

All other thoughts suddenly forgotten, Prowl rolled off of his berth and made a beeline for his phone, ignoring the fact that he was wearing only the boxer shorts that he slept in. He'd have to dress later, after he apologized profusely to his brothers.

He passed through the living area, focused on nothing but the clean, shining metal of the apartment's landline.

There was something that had woken him up, though. He tried to remember what it was, but couldn't. Besides, he'd dialed Smokescreen's number by now and could hear the phone ringing. He'd have to figure out what it was later.

_Meanwhile..._

So far Jazz's association with Prowl had been anything but normal. Not even five minutes after he'd met the man, Prowl had fainted.

And wasn't a swooning sort of faint, like how most people would faint upon meeting him. It was a 'I-can't-deal-with-this-situation-so-I'm-going-to-end-my-perception-of-it' sort of faint.

Even though Optimus _had_ warned him that something like that could happen, he hadn't expected it to be so...sudden. For all that Optimus told him about Prowl, Jazz had thought that the blackouts were rare. How else would someone with such a handicap get to be the highest ranking officer in the station besides the Prime himself? Though he was pretty sure the man would kill him if Jazz ever dared to call Prowl handicapped.

But yet, Prowl had blacked out after being presented with the change in living accommodations. It was eerily similar to how computers crashed, actually, and it made no sense. And that was after Jazz had been tackled to the floor and had a gun pressed to the back of his head.

And now here he was, waltzing past them in naught but his boxers, seemingly completely unaware that he even had guests.

A look at Optimus's expression confirmed that this was abnormal for Prowl. In fact, the Prime looked a bit embarrassed for the Praxian.

Okay. Maybe a lot embarrassed for him. The Prime's entire face was red.

Optimus didn't seem to know what to say, whether or not they should announce their presence or let the man figure it out himself. Jazz however, wanted to let Prowl figure it out, and calmly sipped the coffee that he'd made earlier while Prowl dialed a number on the phone. After all, he hadn't been entirely uncomfortable when Prowl had tackled and then pinned him.

"Hey, Smokescreen. It's Prowl. Look, I'm really sorry for missing the transfer. I forgot to set my alarm and-" The remorse was rather obvious in his voice.

There was silence for a few minutes as Smokescreen responded, then Prowl spoke again. "You did? Oh, thank you. I know it means a lot to Bluestreak, and I'll have to personally apologize to him when I get the chance, but I owe you one."

His voice was just a little bit groggy-sounding from having just woken up, and Jazz wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

With a few final apologies and some extra IOU's, Prowl ended the call. Jazz's sensitive ears caught a small sigh and the sound of footsteps on the tile floor.

This was going to be good.

_Simultaneously..._

Prowl hung the phone up and sighed. He hadn't missed a transfer with Bluestreak in a long time, and he was proud of the fact. Their parents had passed just a few years ago, and Blue was still too young to take care of himself. So Prowl and Smokescreen had done everything in their combined power to make him feel welcome, accepted, and loved.

It was hard, but they'd been managing. Somehow they'd managed to work around very busy scheduling, school, and whatever it was Smokescreen did for a profession. (Prowl knew he wasn't just a psychiatrist. No University on the planet would have given him a degree.)

He'd really have to make it up to little Blue.

But until he got the chance, he'd have to log the blackout.

Prowl crossed the modest kitchen to where he kept the phonebook and opened the drawer. He dug around until he found the small pocket calendar opened it to the cycle's date. Using a thumb as a bookmark, he backtracked and counted the days since the last incident—a total of 54 days. With the new total he wrote the number in the square for that day along with the time he was writing it and put the calendar back where it was.

He started to turn back to the living room, but something stopped him. Last time...Ratchet had given him some vile-tasting pills to take when he came to.

For a tik, he pondered whether or not he could get by with simply not taking them, but Ratchet would hunt him down if he found out. And he _would_ find out. Besides, they actually did help a lot with the infernal stiffness and remembering what had caused his blackout. Not to mention the ache in his skull.

With two of the pills and a glass of cold water in hand, he entered the living area and was headed towards his bedroom, but a small sound made him freeze in his tracks.

Very slowly Prowl turned to see who had the backbone to chuckle. _Chuckle_.

But when he looked into the already-too-familiar smile of 'Jazz,' he suddenly felt he wouldn't need help remembering what made him pass out.

"Good mornin'."

Unfortunately neither the sound nor the feeling of shattering glass, or the nearly icy temperature of the water snapped Prowl out of his sudden state of cold rage. And it did absolutely nothing to wipe that infuriating smirk from Jazz's face.

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><p>I swear...this was not meant to be a shipper fic. But then Jazz happened.<p>

Why can't I write Jazz- and Prowl-centric work that isn't shipping them? (T-T)


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, so I've had the last weekend and the one before to work on this, not to mention all the times before now. And last weekend was Easter, so I had time off school. Please don't hunt me down. No, no, there's no reason to grab your pitchforks!

I had to change the rating. Because of Jazz... I'd hate him for it, but I really can't.

_Previously..._

"Prowl!" Jazz shook the man on top of him, trying to wake him up. "Prowl, c'mon! Ah don' wanna have ta tell Prime Ah broke ya!"

There was no response.

"Dammit Prowl..." Jazz wriggled out from under the slumped form, managing to keep Prowl from colliding with the tile.

"WhatdoAhdo?!" Of course, there was again no answer. There was no one else in the apartment, and Optimus had said that Prowl kept to himself. So the chances of one of the neighbors knowing how to deal with this situation were little to none.

Jazz was starting to panic.

Wait! Optimus had given him Ratchet's number in the slight chance that exactly this happened! Thank Primus in the Well for foresight!

With frantic hands, Jazz dug the cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his rather extensive list of contacts. Ah, there it was!

He pressed the phone to his ear, almost hyperventilating when he didn't hear it ringing. "Why aren't you—Oh." In less than a second he had actually pressed the 'call' button, which was probably a very helpful and productive thing to do.

Two rings later, the line picked up and a young-sounding voice answered. "This is Iacon's Mercy, First Aid speaking."

Iacon's Mercy, what?! Iacon's Mercy was the biggest hospital in the city, and according to Prime, Ratchet was close to retiring and working at a small clinic that partnered with the Enforcers more often than not. One of the reasons Prime had given Jazz his personal number instead of the clinic's.

Whatever. Even if he was at a hospital, Jazz _needed _Ratchet. "Ah need ta talk ta Ratchet! Mah name's Jazz, and Prowl collapsed and Ah don' know what ta do ta fix him and Ah need ta fix him b'cause Prahme said he'd be th' best fo' th' job an' Ah really need his help but Ah can't get 'is help if he's all broke like this!" By the end of his 'explanation' Jazz was almost in tears.

"I'm sorry, there are no doctors by the name of Ratchet here."

Jazz's heart went cold for a few moments. When it started back up, it brought a crushing wave of helplessness. Jazz's jaw trembled and he couldn't stop the tears welling up behind his glasses.

"Wha'?" Was all he could manage before the other end of the line crackled with static and he could faintly hear an old, gruff voice admonishing what sounded like a whining child before the noise stopped and the gruff voice became clear on the line.

"Sorry about Sideswipe. He's always being a little nuisance." Jazz heard a distant "Hey!" before the man—he was really hoping it was Ratchet—continued. "This is Ratchet."

Jazz could have cried with relief, if it weren't for the fact that he was already kind of crying out of panic. "Mah name's Jazz, an'-"

"Is it Prowl? Prime told me you'd be visiting him today."

Jazz sighed in relief and glanced at the still-unconscious Prowl. "Yeah. He jus' collapsed! How do Ah fix 'him?"

"How long has he been out?"

"Uh.." Jazz looked around for a clock before realizing that he didn't know what time Prowl had blacked out in the first place. Knowing the current time would be useless. "...two minutes?"

"Then he should wake up soon. Try and see if you can get him on the couch or something, or at least elevate his legs. He usually keeps an icepack in the freezer, wrap that in a dry towel and put it on his forehead, if he hasn't woken up by then. Got it all?"

Jazz listened with rapt attention, incredibly grateful that Ratchet had answered and that he hadn't had to give another explanation. "Yeah, Ah think Ah got it."

"Good. Anything else you wanted to know?"

Jazz thought for a moment, unable to come up with anything else he needed to ask about. "Not tha' Ah can think of."

"Okay. Call me again if you need anything."

"Wait!" A sudden and terrible thought had just raced through Jazz's mind. "What if he doesn't wake up?"

A sigh was heard from the other end of the line before Ratchet answered. "If he doesn't wake up in the next ten minutes, or if he stops breathing, put him in a chair and tip it backwards, but make sure he doesn't land on his head. He's screwed up enough there as it is. That should wake him up, but if not, call me again."

Jazz nodded, even though he knew Ratchet couldn't see him. "Okay. Thanks, Ratch'."

Ratchet didn't comment on the shortening of his name, instead choosing to yell at someone, probably that Sideswipe, distantly on the other line. Then his voice was heard clearer. "No problem, kid. Now, I gotta go take care of some pests that call themselves my nephews." The line went dead before Jazz could think of anything to say to that.

Jazz lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call. Ratchet's clear instructions had given him a sense of relief, knowing that Prowl wasn't actually broken. When he looked at Prowl's face, though, all sense of relief vanished and was replaced by a sense of dread.

"Okay, Ratch' said to elevate yo' feet." Jazz looked around the small living room behind him and settled his gaze on the couch. The couch placed against the far wall. The farthest possible distance it could have been from their position. "On the couch. Why do ya have ta do things th' hard way? Why couldn't ya have put it here?" Jazz gestured to the empty space next to them, against the wall that divided the living room from kitchen.

As he struggled to move Prowl onto said couch, he kept up a running dialogue, even though he knew Prowl couldn't hear him. Even if he could, Jazz somehow doubted he would answer. After all, Jazz had caused Prowl to black out, and that couldn't be fun, especially in his line of work.

After a lot of hefting, huffing, and cursing, Prowl was laid on the couch with his feet propped against one of the armrests, his head on the opposite cushion.

"Okay. Icepack. Tha' one should be easy." Jazz turned back towards the kitchen, but stopped and glance back at the other man. "Easier, anyway."

When Jazz opened the freezer in the kitchen, the first thing he saw was the icepack. "Huh. Tha' _was_ easy." He felt a sense of relief as he closed the freezer and turned with ice pack in hand.

And immediately froze.

The couch was empty.

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><p>So how about that ending, eh?<p>

Don't you love my time transitions?

Give me all your feels! I needs them!


	4. Chapter 4

Wow, I'm late on this. I understand how the white rabbit feels. I am so sorry, and I'd not be surprised if everyone decided there's better things to read. Life happened, and I didn't work on anything the entire summer, so this is horribly late.

pls don't be mad.

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><p>Prowl hated blacking out. Hated the moment of vulnerability, however brief it may be. Hated the initial memory lapse and everything that came with it, hated the memory lapse the next morning and everything that came with <em>that<em>. But most of all, he hated waking up not recalling anything in the last half hour or so, with potentially no clue where he was, who he was with, if he had met anyone new, if he was in any danger, and if anyone else was in any danger because of _him_.

Thankfully, he'd been living with the...ah, handicap, not that he would ever admit to thinking of it that way, his whole life. So he was well acquainted with what to do when he awoke with no recollection of the last half hour and the sensation of having been moved.

When Prowl was a child, he would always panic after waking up. Thankfully with experience, he'd learned the proper action to take in such a situation. What was the proper action, some would ask?

Absolutely nothing.

Prowl felt the stranger moving him and tried to determine if there was only one. His ears still had to 'reboot' as Ratchet would say, so he couldn't make out any of what the stranger was saying. Although, after focusing on the voice, Prowl deduced that the pitch of it was too low for a woman. So it wasn't Elita or Arcee, who both loved to surprise him. Strong as they were, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe wouldn't be strong enough to lift him as the man was doing.

It would have been a relief if it were the twins, no matter how many times he'd woken up in rather unsavory situations.

Prowl felt the surface he was placed on give under his weight. Cushions? A couch?

The stranger said something else that Prowl couldn't quite understand before the man's footsteps retreated.

Well, he couldn't just lie here if he was in any sort of danger. Prowl risked opening one eye, and saw that he was in the main room of his apartment, lying on the considerably comfortable sofa.

A quick sweep of the room revealed a man with olive skin, dreadlocks, and sunglasses in hand in front of the refrigerator. Prowl watched as the man opened the door to the freezer, which momentarily blocked the man's view of where Prowl was laying.

Perfect.

With about as much grace as a newborn giraffe, Prowl rolled off of the sofa onto the floor, and made haste to his open bedroom door. Thank Primus he didn't have to pass the opening to the kitchen, or through the kitchen itself. He'd be screwed if that was the case.

Prowl also hated the stiffness and drowsiness of waking up.

While scrambling to stand up and actually enter his bedroom, Prowl heard a (cute, if not for the situation) squeak and the sound of something hitting the floor.

It occurred to Prowl that maybe the man wasn't there to harm him, and that it was an honest mistake. However, he couldn't take any chances.

He just hoped that his spare pistol was where it was supposed to be.

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><p>Looking at the empty couch, Jazz was terrified. He unintentionally let out a squeak and felt the icepack slip from between his fingers. Fortunately, he kept hold of his sunglasses.<p>

With hands positioned as though still holding the icepack, Jazz stiffly made his way to stand over where Prowl had been not even a moment ago. He looked at the armrest where he had spent so much energy propping up Prowl's feet, and then looked at where the man's head had been as though the couch were hiding Prowl somewhere. Due to his past experience with a couch (an experience that shall never again be directly mentioned or thought of), Jazz wouldn't have put it past the lump of cushion.

"Prowl?" Jazz's voice was hesitant, and when he received no answer a low whine escaped him. "Prowl, I really don't want to have to tell Prime that I broke you _and_ lost you, so please stop hiding now."

Again, no answer was heard.

"This isn't funny!" Jazz knew his desperation was clearly audible, but that was just as well.

With nothing else to do and no evident way to find Prowl, Jazz gave an almost-sob and turned to go pick up the icepack he'd dropped.

And looked straight down the barrel of a handgun.

In panic, Jazz took a step back and landed uneasily on the couch. He'd forgotten he was so close to it.

"Who are you?" The holder of the gun demanded.

Recognizing the voice, Jazz looked past the gun and into the very unimpressed looking face of Prowl.

"Prowl!" Immediate relief chased away all panic at having lost him, and Jazz smiled to show his relief.

"No, that is my name. What is yours?" Prowl didn't lower the pistol.

"What do you mean, who am I? We just met!" The relief of finding Prowl again was quickly becoming clouded by confusion, and a tinge of fear. Having a gun pointed at him for the second time in less than a half hour, by the same man, tended to induce fear.

Prowl frowned. "If you are referring to a meeting that happened some time in the last half hour, I'm afraid you'll have to introduce yourself again."

Jazz's expression likely conveyed his steadily-growing unease. Optimus hadn't said anything about memory loss in the briefing. Of course, he hadn't really said very much about Prowl's blackouts at all, saying he didn't feel comfortable talking about something Prowl considered private when he wasn't there, and that it was highly unlikely that he would have an episode anyway.

Well, he'd have to suggest that the Prime include all potentially relevant information in briefings from now on, regardless of the likelihood of it becoming relevant or how private Optimus felt the information was.

Okay, Prowl couldn't remember meeting Jazz fifteen minutes earlier, he was probably feeling a bit threatened or unnerved from the way he was gripping the handgun, and he had already seemed worn a bit thin from his day. That didn't exactly make it very easy on Jazz, who had just had his own mini rollercoaster of emotions.

Although it was probably a good thing Prowl didn't remember walking into his own home to find Jazz rooting through his kitchen in search of something to eat.

Before he began, Jazz cleared his throat and took a breath in an attempt to regain his calm. "Mah name's Jazz, and the Prahm said you could help meh wit' somethin'."

At this, Prowl loosed his death grip on the murder tool in his hand, but he didn't put it down or lower it at all. "Prime sent you?"

"Yeah, an' he said he'd told ya Ah was comin', or that he was gonna tell ya, or somethin'." Primus, it felt like a week ago that he'd spoken to the Prime, though it was really only a few hours. Panic would do that to a person.

Suspicion flashed through Prowl's eyes, before he hesitantly lowered the gun. Jazz was incredibly relieved that he was no longer in immediate danger of being shot because the man didn't believe him, though Prowl was still intimidating. "He did say he needed to tell me something when I was free for a minute. But there was an emergency and I didn't see him for the rest of the day." Prowl said this slowly, as though he were weighing the event against Jazz's claim.

Well that was easily solved. Prowl trusted Prime, right? "Ya could call him an' ask."

Prowl raised his chin a tiny bit, still obviously uncertain about Jazz. "Prime is likely asleep at this time."

"Then ya could call Ratchet. Ah jus' spoke ta him a little bit ago, so he's not asleep yet." Hopefully Prowl would call the medic instead of just deciding that Jazz was not trustworthy and shooting him. No, Jazz enjoyed being alive very much, perhaps even more so now that he'd met Prowl. For some reason he hoped he'd get along with the Enforcer, despite the current situation.

Meanwhile Prowl was mulling over his options and biting his bottom lip as he thought. His eyes never left Jazz's face, and Jazz was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed from the constant, steady attention. Eventually Prowl sighed and nodded, but added a firm "Stay where you are." before backing up to get to the phone. Jazz guessed the man still didn't trust him enough to let Jazz leave his sight, and to demonstrate his complacency Jazz crossed one leg over the other and assumed a very comfortable position.

Prowl only glared at the movement, but he did pick up the phone and dialed, so it was a start.

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><p>Four chapters in and I've only managed to cover about twenty minutes and maybe ten of the following morning. Hopefully next chapter my muse will come back and I'll be able to write something good and get a lot covered.<p>

Or maybe not. I can always dream. Thanks to all who have favourited and followed and left yummy reviews. I love getting emails telling me people actually read my stuff. And thank you for reading.


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